


a rare and gentle thing

by cardaisy



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes (1984 TV), Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Episode: s02e06 The Final Problem, M/M, Sharing a Bed, The Final Problem, its bittersweet, theres not much else to say tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-29
Updated: 2020-09-29
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:49:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26720932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cardaisy/pseuds/cardaisy
Summary: “Holmes, there’s simply not enough room - ” I moved to sit up with a sigh, but Holmes’ arm shot out from where it lay on the other side of the small bed and urged me to lay back down. Once I had done so, he retrieved his arm from across my chest, and once more moved to try and give me some more space.I frowned. “Holmes.”“Yes?”“I should just take the floor, this is useless.” Rather than replying immediately, he, somewhat encumbered, turned to lay facing me.“No.”Two times Holmes and Watson shared a bed during their travels across Europe.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 12
Kudos: 109





	a rare and gentle thing

**Author's Note:**

> i think i went feral writing this. was it worth it? yes. i had that last scene written so early on, i think i was momentarily possessed by some higher being to write something so tender and bittersweet
> 
> me plotting out the timeline for this fic involved a lot of me going buckwild with google maps and just constantly thinking "man countries in europe are so small???". anyway, for the purposes of this fic i added my own stop just before brussels, it messes up acd's timeline, but i simply can't find it within myself to care. also if you were wondering (which i’m sure you were) the 1891 calendar post-feb is the same as the 2020 calendar, fancy that
> 
> this was 100% inspired by [this](https://two-nipples-maybe-more.tumblr.com/post/628910501540347904/this-is-frens) post by [two-nipples-maybe-more](https://two-nipples-maybe-more.tumblr.com/), go follow them!!
> 
> as always i can be found on [tumblr](https://plasticonobandana.tumblr.com/)

That time we spent making our way across the continent before the events at Reichenbach was a bit of a blur, and filled with uncomfortable nights sleeping in all kinds of different accommodations. In some instances we would find ourselves lucky enough to be housed at a quaint inn or hotel and have a rather pleasant sleep. However, it was just as likely for us to be sheltered for a night or two in a new acquaintance's flat, each of us awkwardly getting a few hours of sleep on a chair or chaise of varying comfort. On a third occasion, at both the beginning and end of our journey, as if bookmarking our travels in some fateful fashion, we found ourselves faced with one particular, but not altogether unwanted circumstance. 

The first time it had happened, I must admit that I made a bit of a show about it. We had arrived late in the evening, nearly midnight, after that long, exhausting first day of travel. The owner of the inn, located in a small village just shy of the Franco-Belgian border and still some hours east of Brussels, was surprised to find us at the door just as he was retiring for the night, and was quick to inform us that there was only one room with a single bed remaining. 

“You must understand, my dear man,” I began, “that we truly have no other option. At this point in the night it’s far too late to travel any further. If we can’t stay here we will very well be sleeping on the streets tonight!”

The man nodded, and stepped aside for us to enter the building. “Of course, of course,” he mumbled, walking over to the front desk to retrieve the key for the room. “I can of course supply you with an extra blanket and pillow for whoever will be taking the floor tonight.” At the comment a faint blush crept onto my face, as I’ll admit that I had not even considered the possibility of one of us sleeping on the floor. I had simply resigned myself to a night of fitful rest sharing the small bed. 

“Yes, of course, thank you,” I replied after a moment, trying not to reveal my slight embarrassment. During this entire exchange Holmes had remained silent, which was indeed characteristic of him when he was either lost in deep thought, or found a conversation to be utterly uninteresting, and I wondered briefly which one might be the case at the current moment.

The man quietly led us to our room, after a moment of running around looking for some extra bedding, and within a few minutes we were alone in our newly acquired accommodations. I cleared my throat after he shut the door behind him, and moved to grab the extra pillow and blanket from off of the end of the bed. “I will of course take the floor tonight.” I noted, not looking at Holmes and pretending to busy myself with fluffing the pillow and unfolding the blanket. 

There was a long moment of silence, during which Holmes regarded me with a strange, but thoughtful look, and just as I was trying to decide whether to question this silence or bid him good night, he spoke up. “I’ll not fight you on this, Watson.” 

Knowing Holmes as I did, I had never expected him to offer to take the floor, or to fight me in some show of humbleness. I expressed this to him with a slight laugh. 

“That is not what I meant,” he said softly, “but if you insist,” he made a flourish with his hand toward the floor where I had laid out the pillow and blanket, “by all means.” With that he left the room for a moment to change into his nightwear, and as I did so myself, I pondered upon what in the world he _had_ meant by that comment. 

Holmes returned a few moments later, and set about organising his things. Eventually, he pulled back the covers of the bed and sat upon it, staring at me. At this point I was already trying to make myself comfortable on the carpet - admittedly finding it somewhat difficult - and eagerly ignored him. 

He continued to stare at me pointedly, as if punctuating a statement that he never actually voiced aloud, and I turned away from him with a slight huff of annoyance, still feeling his eyes upon my back. Sometime later, I still did not hear Holmes move to lay down, and I was about to berate him to, at the very least, blow out the candle serving as our light in the small room when he cleared his throat, as if he were about to speak. 

He did not, in fact, follow up with any kind of statement. 

“ _What_?” I half exclaimed after a moment, trying to keep my voice low as I sat upright and threw the blanket off to the side. “What on _earth_ is it, Holmes?” 

“I do believe you’re being quite foolish.” 

I let out a great sigh, making no effort to conceal my exasperation. “I’m in no mood for it, Holmes. It is late and I’d like to try and get as much rest as I can.”

“I mean only to say that you mustn’t throw yourself upon some unnecessary sword. There is no reason we cannot share the bed. Come now.” Holmes spoke in that way he always does, as if he were simply pointing out the obvious, and not, instead, showcasing his deep capacity for care and tenderness that were only apparent on such rare occasions. He then turned away from me, crawling into the bed and leaving as much space as possible for me to join him. 

I stared at him blankly for a moment before getting up, in awe of how frustrating he could be at times. Blowing out the candle, I took my place beside him on the mattress, facing the back of his head.

It was awfully cramped, and I felt Holmes shift slightly, as if trying to give me more space that simply did not exist. I fidgeted for a moment, trying to find a comfortable position that did not involve completely invading the personal space of my friend, and quickly gave up in my efforts. 

“Holmes, there’s simply not enough room - ” I moved to sit up with a sigh, but Holmes’ arm shot out from where it lay on the other side of the small bed and urged me to lay back down. Once I had done so, he retrieved his arm from across my chest, and once more moved to try and give me some more space.

I frowned. “Holmes.”

“Yes?” 

“I should just take the floor, this is useless.” Rather than replying immediately, he, somewhat encumbered, turned to lay facing me. 

“No.”

“ _No_?” I could not help but recall how, nearly half an hour ago, he had proclaimed that he would not fight me on the matter, and part of me itched to throw this fact back in his face. Before I had a chance to do so, Holmes motioned for me to turn around, and I begrudgingly did as he requested. It then came as quite the shock when he moved closer to me, and brought his arm tentatively across my middle, encouraging me to move closer to him on the bed. Within moments I found myself lying nearly flush next to Holmes, my face quickly turning a bright shade of red. There were a few long minutes of silence during which I couldn’t help but settle into the embrace. 

“Are you comfortable?” Holmes asked after a moment, his voice was quiet, as if he were completely at peace and about to doze off. 

In regards to my position on the bed, yes, I was indeed very comfortable, Holmes had not removed his arm from where it rested lightly across my stomach, the weight a welcome comfort, and I no longer felt as though I were about to fall off the bed. On the other hand, my mind was racing a hundred miles a minute, and I was trying to make sense of what was happening. “Hmm?” Holmes added after a moment. 

“Yes, quite.” Holmes mumbled something unintelligible in response, and within minutes I could hear the soft noise of him snoring ever so slightly. At that I let out a small sigh, and relaxed some, trying to clear my mind and get some rest, knowing it best to simply try to ignore the strange, yet pleasant predicament I found myself in. 

In truth, it took me quite a long time to finally fall asleep that night. 

-

The next morning when I awoke I found myself to be completely alone in the room, which was not unexpected, but left me feeling as though the night before had been but a dream. It of course was not, and I’m nearly certain that if I had voiced this feeling to Holmes he would have berated me for saying something so foolish. We simply went about our travels as usual and no comment was made about the night before. 

We arrived in Brussels that next day, and spent two rather pleasant days in the city. It was not until we arrived at our hotel in Strasbourg that our moods were dampened with the news about Moriarty. Though despite the lingering air of anxiety that I could not help but perceive from my friend, from that point onward our travels remained rather pleasant. 

It was in that way, that upon leaving Strasbourg, we made our way slowly south toward Geneva, setting a somewhat leisurely pace in order to properly take in the picturesque landscape that Switzerland offered. Soon enough, we found ourselves at the end of our journey, though we of course never made it to our intended destination. We arrived at the village of Meiringen in the early afternoon of May 3rd, wherein we found ourselves presented with the same issue as our first night of travel. It was explained to us that while it was not ideal, the hotel was expecting a vacancy the next day, and that we would only be one night in the room with the single bed.

I must admit that it would probably have been no issue for us to find a different hotel that could have better accommodated two bachelors. It was not so late in the day that this was our last option, and we could very well have looked into the other hotel in the village, or even ventured further out to one of the nearby towns. Despite these facts, I proclaimed that the limited space would be of no issue for us and that we would take the room. 

Were Holmes to question me on my decision, I already had a number of excuses prepared for why I had made such an assertion. I would have argued that it would be best for us to stay out of the public eye as much as possible, for who knows who might see us if we were to venture out in search of a different hotel. Or, one might also consider the fact that if we did seek out a different establishment, they might only have separate accommodations available for us, and given our current circumstances it would probably be best to stay together, should anything unexpected occur. Of course, my true reasons were perhaps a bit more selfish, and may have had something to do with my recollection of the soft weight of Holmes’ arm resting over me, but I tried at all costs to keep that from him as well as I possibly could. 

Holmes, in spite of my prepared justifications, made no question of my decision, and instead I caught the smallest smirk upon his face as I had reassured the young woman that we would do well enough with what was available. (“No worry, my dear, if there is a chair in the room as you say, I should ask you kindly for a blanket and I shall make do for the night!” I had expressed to her with a bright smile.)

Once we were alone and settling into the room, Holmes turned to me with a raised eyebrow. 

“My dear Watson,” he spoke with a slight smile in his voice, “do not tell me that you truly mean to sleep in that chair tonight.”

I could not meet his eye as I replied, feeling a slight bit of embarrassment, and focused on neatly placing the extra blanket I’d been supplied with on the back of the chair. “Of course not,” I hesitated. “Unless… that is unwelcome?” I chanced a look up at Holmes, and the expression on his face was so unreserved and fond that I found myself caught off guard for a moment. 

“Of course not, my friend. It is indeed the very opposite.” I simply nodded in response, and turned away from him again, a strange feeling in my gut. 

We spent the rest of the afternoon settling into Meiringen, and later that night, at Holmes’ request, after settling into bed I had read aloud to him the beginning of a book that I had picked up earlier during our brief stint in Basle. He had fallen asleep next to me after less than 15 pages, but I could not fault him in the least for doing so. The events of the past week had been no doubt stressful, and I can only imagine the toll it had taken out of my dear friend. Now, he lay next to me on his back, his chest slowly rising and falling, and I’ll admit I spent a long time taking in his form, slightly overwhelmed by the feeling of love and admiration that I felt seeing him so peaceful and relaxed. I stayed like that for a long while, contemplating our relationship and the events that had brought us to that exact moment, and while I don’t know precisely when I drifted off into sleep, I would estimate that it was not until very late into the night. 

-

As I awoke that next morning, I felt that I could nearly feel someone’s gaze upon me, and as I did open my eyes I found Holmes to be staring at me, quietly and with, dare I say it, an almost reverent look upon his face. He spoke up as I blinked, adjusting my eyes to the light. “I’m sorry, I…” He trailed off, his gaze flickering away from my face and back again.

“Holmes?” My voice was barely a whisper. 

“I... I should have left before you woke up.”

His eyes left mine as he looked upon my face, as if trying to memorise it, and I’ll admit I was at a loss for words. There was a moment where his hand reached up, as if wanting to caress my cheek, but Holmes faltered and pulled it back. In a moment of panic, my own hand shot out, grabbing his and pulling it up to my face, sighing at the feel of his cool palm against my cheek. I then slowly brought it down to my lips and pressed a small kiss into the soft skin at the centre of his hand. 

Holmes let out a long breath, and closed his eyes, looking quite at peace. “My dear, I must admit that when I find myself with the opportunity to stay beside you like this, before you’ve awoken and the fleeting moment gone… I find myself also hoping that it will never end.” He spoke this into the palm of my hand, his breath ghosting across my skin.

“Holmes…” I murmured, unable to express my full emotions in words, and hoping that he would instead, as he often did, understand me in a way that no one else truly ever has. 

We laid like that for a long time, and I can no longer recall which one of us was first to rise, first to break contact, first to voice that it was getting late in the morning. There is so much that I no longer recall, about that trip and about Holmes, but what will never leave me is that last time we shared a bed, and the look of love and earnestness on his face as we laid there in contemplative and comfortable silence. It exists almost in a vacuum, as if time had stopped for a moment, and we were no longer Watson and Holmes, but just two men, who could lay in the morning sun and bask in the love that they shared for one another.

**Author's Note:**

> anyway, don't think about how the next night watson won't have to worry about moving into the other room with two beds


End file.
